


Sleep Music

by CarverClarke (Aricle)



Category: Dead Space (Video Games), Dead Space 3 - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aricle/pseuds/CarverClarke
Relationships: John Carver/Isaac Clarke
Kudos: 21





	Sleep Music

A whisper in the dark. John had taken the first watch. The skin of sleep dissolved and Isaac opened his eyes to black. He had wised up to John’s habit of not waking him for watch but not to the why of it. Perhaps this was what had woken him, the internal clock he had prodded into service in order to get John to share watch, give John a chance to sleep off the red eyes and tired slump of shoulder? A small noise didn’t announce itself but rather slid into Isaac’s awareness and he knew this was what had woken him. He also knew with certain simultaneity that this noise was what had kept John from catching on to Isaac’s wakefulness. 

He listened at the dark, squinting in an effort to hear better, smiled at himself. It was something of a rhythm, somehow familiar, nights where he had tapped the wall or the side of his finger, tried to lull himself to sleep… It was not a threat, it had purpose to it, and John was part of it. He picked out the creak of armour, and an exhale woven into the rhythm, which seemed to have frayed at the seams or, no, changed tempo, with breath added to the orchestra. Isaac listened at the shape of the sound, a warp and weft of breath, armour settled on floor and wall and body, punctuated by a clump of consonants that sounded like his own name on John’s lips, without the impatience that creased his name into something not to his liking most times he heard it. This was to his liking or so he thought and he strained to hear it again. I want to be sure, he told himself, ignored what he felt sure of, antennae out. A wet sound now, moisture gathered at lips and throat, and he realized he could see, solid darks and grayed darks, definitely time for his watch, saw the dark curve of John’s head and back, made out that the broad back was to him, John having stationed himself between Isaac and the door. 

Isaac was up, moved under cover of the caution of limited sight, below the scrum of sound that surrounded John, probably not loud to anyone but Isaac’s sleep-deprived acuity of ear. Black had been tinged with and then consorted with gray, gray had begun to yield to the pale of day, as Isaac crept toward John. This trinity of colour- not colour camouflaged Isaac’s skin, hair, clothes, all of an accident, and he no longer knew what it was he crept forward from his bed for- so he could see what John was doing or take watch? Didn’t matter. An elbow was at his midsection then not and he tensed and eased back on his soles. That elbow sawed at the air, the unseen hand at its wrist had to be at John’s waist, at a guess, and the tune became clear to Isaac but not the key. What key matched the mood for John in times of hand at juncture of thigh, that hearth at the pit of spine and juncture of leg? For Isaac, bittersweet jangle of what wasn’t: Nicole, Ellie, bed, something called home. At a guess, he would say that John’s was the same, but maybe? He didn’t know what difference being a husband and father made when hands asked for warmth at that hearth. What he did know was hand and hearth and he reached out to warm that hearth rather than take warmth from it and a strong hand pinned his wrist in the air. 

“What the fuck?”

“It’s my watch,” Isaac squeaked from camouflage.“You need to sleep.”

“Shit. Yeah. But the night’s almost gone so why don’t you go back to sleep?”

“I can’t. You’ve got my wrist.”

Released, rubbed at his skin, moved back and to the side, and he saw, stepped in, gulped air, stepped in very close, something learned from— shook his head— shook back the memory— when something grabbed for you and you were within their reach, it confounded expectation. John’s hand grabbed air, Isaac was within his airspace, a regret at the loss of that sound, but: reached down to find the parted armour, tender skin, wiry hair, soft taut curve, John’s expectation not confounded very long, as Isaac was folded closer by that arm, was this what John had learned to do, press a friend close, an enemy closer? He must really hate me, he had time to think, before John kissed him hard and moved his hand to where he wanted it and he joined the orchestra as it struck up that tune again, arm hushed along armoured thigh, but breath was now being vented between their mouths where they met and the silent pitch got to Isaac: silence, and he could see the many watches where a soldier would learn to silently coax that fire, burn with it and bank it, although he would bet that John would be one to scatter the ashes after a burn, whether to mourn or exult he wouldn’t know. Is this a wake or a christening? he wondered, tongue answering John’s decisive wet kisses, the shuttle of his own hand guided rapidly along that sturdy penis, as sturdy as John himself, and Isaac felt himself stand at attention, trapped between leg and armour, and he grunted in pleasure-pain, slapped at his thigh to adjust himself, damn armour, snapped the catches, surprised at John’s hand ahead of his, more than Isaac meant to do, adjust and let it be, hand jerked along Isaac’s surprised penis, and the rapid tempo jarred him, being used to the bittersweet choke and reluctant spill, his penis responded rapidly, Isaac gulped as fingers of fear wrapped him, turned his head and bit John’s neck hard. 

John gasped, stopped, Isaac choked out, “You have to ask first please, ask, it hurts,” an almost whimper to the words that he hated, systems shutting down, body being evacuated, and John said, “Okay. I’ll ask. Can I jerk you off, Isaac?” Astounded, Isaac froze, John saw something and said, “If it’s yes, touch me, but easy on the biting, that’s not my thing. If it’s no—” he released Isaac’s hand where he had wrapped it in his— “you’re free to stop.”

Not knowing the time left to him to decide, Isaac closed the gap between his hand and John with a tap of finger to the side of John’s fingers, and John smiled, eyes in on it for a change, which Isaac could see in the light filtered through window high above, muttered, “I know that one, trying to put myself to sleep by counting along with my heart beat, but I don’t think you’re looking for me to rock you to sleep.” 

John’s hand mirrored Isaac’s, tapped at the side of his penis, the thought of being eased into sleep in John’s arms popped like a soap bubble, leaving behind a spatter of yearning on his face that he hoped John didn’t see, and, no, John was watching as Isaac’s penis responded, a new tempo, sweet yet distinctly there, that hand sure of the spill and pulse to be, and Isaac remembered the rest of John and took him in hand again, enjoyed the familiar feel of penis sans sensation, my feeling made normal, he thought, touching myself with feeling going out-of-tune with radio, not good; touching John and not sensing it, worked, and Isaac moved in earnest, spat in his hand, pumped John, forgot himself, until John said, “Hey.”

Isaac stilled everything at once. “Yes?”

“Do you feel me?” 

“Of course,” moved his fingers along John again, hoped to escape.

“No, do you feel me on your dick, Isaac?”

Isaac looked down and away, shook his head and bit his lip.

“Is it because I didn’t ask?”

 _What does he care? Why won’t he just let me jerk him off?_ Isaac thought.

“Please stop,” and Isaac realized he had started working John up again.

Hands folded into lap, wishing he could fold the rest of himself away.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I wish you could help me sleep.”

“I can do that, Isaac,” hands gently folded him away, exactly as he had wanted, helped him up, guided him to the pancaked mattress, Isaac gratefully stretched out there, John at his back, pulling him close, asking, “Mind if I’m the big spoon?” He didn’t mind, spoons hadn’t been on the table in a long time; he said, “I like it.”

Sleep at last, hard to come by with his brain asking how John went from some-sort-of-sex to tucked around Isaac in the best blanket he’s had since unknown, until John said at his ear, “Been a long time since I put someone to bed. I like it.” That satisfied Isaac’s brain for some reason, and he got past the threshold of almost-sleep to sleep. 

When he awoke to the tamped-down not knowing where he was, tamped-down but not-gone, couldn’t be hidden from the person at your back in the same airspace as you, he pinwheeled his hands against the arm over him, the hand of the arm tightened on his then lifted away, Isaac breathed himself down. The hand returned and Isaac took the hand in his, hoped that wasn’t a step too far, the hand caressed his, and Isaac relaxed. 

Movement, John shifted and propped himself on an elbow, Isaac looked up at him, John leaned down and into Isaac, a kiss and a halt, then Isaac curled a hand up at John, John bent his head into that curl and Isaac pulled him close for another kiss and that hovering press-dart did for both until Isaac rolled to face John, they kissed, face-to-face, tongue at his lips remembered by Isaac’s nerve endings, he invited it in with his own tongue, hungry large kisses, John’s saliva in Isaac’s beard and moustache, Isaac’s on John’s chin patch and the curve above his upper lip, which Isaac found he enjoyed kissing. John’s hand moved along Isaac in a way he recognized as where do I put my hands, which question he had asked himself and answered with John’s scalp, but… John hitched in a breath, paused, said, “I don’t know where to put my hands because I don’t know what’s right here, I’m of a mind to undress you but I’m not sure what we’re doing.”

Isaac hesitated then reached for John’s armour clasps, John reached for Isaac’s, and they shed the armour together, rolled back into each other’s arms. The feel of John clad in undersuit, the curvature of muscled back, somehow delicate hips and a bulge at Isaac’s thigh, below, unfamiliar yet most familiar, John’s hands were gently everywhere, Isaac’s body thoroughly appreciated, and he was dizzy with it, looked at John, asked, “Can I undress you?”

John nodded and asked the same, they stood and gently disrobed each other, Isaac looked John over, smiled, and John lifted his eyes to Isaac’s, smiled back. They stepped forward and Isaac felt John’s skin to his at last and sighed, didn’t move, held him and felt himself held. John eased them back to the mattress and down, held Isaac from behind, a hand parted his cheeks, John pressed at his entry, asked, “May I?”

“Yes,” and John entered him very slowly, Isaac rationed out his breath, John’s hands held his shoulder and hip, tapped along him in the same beat that Isaac had shared with John, and Isaac smiled against the discomfort. 

“Am I hurting you?”

“It’s tight, maybe you could use some somatic gel?”

“Mmm, hmm,” carefully withdrawing, knelt to fumble the gel from his armour, and Isaac had a nice view of John’s rear end, curvature of back, knobs of spine, and a hint of his penis between his thighs, and it was so ordinary but extraordinary, about to have sex, something he had not had in some time, and with a man? Unknown, shook his head, John was looking at him, gel in hand, half-eager, half-shy. 

“Is that a no, Isaac?”

“Huh, oh, no; I mean, yes,” stopped and laughed. “I haven’t had sex in awhile, and with you, with a man? I’m surprised. It’s not a no.”

“Good, I don’t want to stop but I don’t want to do anything you don’t want,” toying with the gel clutched in his hand.

“John? Have you done this before?”

“No, I’m- no. Would you..?” gel held out to Isaac.

“I would.” John paused, Isaac said, “How about I be the big spoon for a moment?”

John nestled into Isaac, Isaac kissed his neck, dipped a finger into the gel, and stroked it along John. The feel of John’s rear against his erection was pleasant and John must have thought something similar, for he was pressed back against Isaac in a way that resulted in Isaac tucked into John’s cleft, and that was even more pleasant, and Isaac sighed. 

John mumbled something, Isaac lifted his head from kissing John’s neck, and said, “What?”

“I said, we could take turns at this, if you want, Isaac.”

“I don’t know, I can’t think about this too much, I want it but- do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I think so, want to be little spoon again?”

They turned where they laid, Isaac clutched at the scant mattress as John curled around him, hand on shoulder, other hand at his rear, parting him, eased himself against Isaac’s rose of flesh, and pressed into him again, got his tip inside, pulsed slowly deeper as Isaac breathed. 

“Are you okay?”

“I am. John, do you like me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Look, I know that saying, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and you’ve got me pretty close right now,” feeling tears crowd his eyes. 

“Isaac, no. I wouldn’t do that. Where does this come from?”

“When I came to take watch, I couldn’t fool you long by moving in that close, and I thought maybe you hated me the way you clamped me at your chest, not to mention the way you say my name.”

“Shit. I don’t hate you. You’ve grown on me, and that makes me nervous, it’s not hate,” hands atwitch at Isaac’s hip now, either John’s heart had sped up or the rhythm had been abandoned. “Listen, you want to hear me say your name that matches how I feel?”

“Please, John,” letting some of his own feeling into that name by way of invitation.

“Shit. I’m scared right now, but I want you to feel safe about what we’re doing,” breath stuck in his throat. “I don’t know if I can do this justice with my throat clamped down, fuck, but… Isaac Clarke, don’t let me go, please.”

“John Carver, stay with me, please.”

John stayed and Isaac did not let go, and John eased in, and Isaac opened slowly to him, until John was able to rock his hips against Isaac, kiss his neck as he wanted to do, wrap his arm around and enfold that stomach, slide lower to the tilt of erection, ask with a gentle hand, answered with Isaac’s hand guiding him to cup and stroke him. 

“Are you feeling me, Isaac?”

“I am.”

“Here, too?” tapping his penis in that rhythm Isaac loved, and he laughed, “Yes, John.”

“I want you to feel something else,” moving their hands from Isaac’s hearth for a moment, pressing them to his neck, to his heartbeat, a strong pulse fluttering against the skin. “I feel good. Would you mind if I moved to this rhythm?”

“Feel my heart, John,” and curious fingers touched Isaac, and John chuckled. “I don’t think I could keep up that pace, I’m out of practice.”

“You don’t know until you try,” hips rocked back into John, back melting into that strong chest.

“When you put it that way, God, Isaac, I want you,” hips picked up pace, thrusting into Isaac, gripped at hip and shoulder again by strong hands, thoroughly close to John now, and getting close to something else, and, and, and John nudged up against that flower inside Isaac, a flower within flower, a kaleidoscope spiraled inside his body, and he cried out, managed something that was meant to be, “harder” or maybe “more” but John got it, and gave him both harder and more, hips matched to heart beat, and Isaac said, “you’ve still got it, although I have no frame of reference for what you had before,” laughed again, John’s rusty chuckle at his ear a pleasure, and tongue in the shell of his ear an even greater pleasure, and Isaac writhed, turned his head to the side, wanting John’s mouth, John kissed his mouth crookedly, mostly tongue and saliva at Isaac’s chin, Isaac panted and swabbed John’s tongue with his, John gasped, “I can’t go that deep when I’m wound around you into a kiss, maybe we could try a different position next time, I don’t think I can stop now, hope you don’t mind that I want a next time with you,” words smashed together, hips smashed to Isaac, and smashed deeper against the bud of nerves inside, Isaac said, “don’t stop,” and John slid down Isaac’s back and went deep into the beat of their hearts beneath the skin, deep into where Isaac was clenched around him, socked up against him, and he let go of everything, and Isaac took it all into himself, sucked it back, and let it out, cried out in a howl, and John spilled into him, and Isaac pulsed around him, clamped down and slid a hand along himself, worked it all out of himself onto his abdomen and John’s appreciative hand.


End file.
